Merry Christmas, Mr.Jenkins, where ever you are

I felt his presence and could imagine him looking over my shoulder as the words repeated over and over in my mind. "Make sure there are even amounts of paper on both sides of the box and the ends.  Fold the paper.  Crease the edges.  Keep it tight.  Tape the fold twice.  Fold ends......"

I have always gift wrapped the Christmas presents I purchased  for my loved ones. I feel my wrapping job is adequate.  I am too frugal to pay a store clerk to perform a task that I can do myself.  Most of all, if I didn’t use my meager gift wrapping talents, I would be disgracing the time and effort that Mr. Marshall Jenkins spent in training me during the Christmas season of 1976. 

I spent parts of the years of 1975 thru 1977 toiling in Mr. Jenkins Dry Goods and Mercantile store on Ewing Street in downtown Guthrie, KY.  Mr. Jenkins was a master salesman to the nth degree.  Unfortunately, by the mid-to-late 1970’s the consumer traffic in Guthrie had begun its downward spiral, and commerce wasn’t what it was in Mr. Jenkins heyday of the 1940's and 50's.  I spent many, many Saturday nights wandering through his store trying to busy myself with the folding and refolding of clothes all the while with an eye on the clock waiting, hoping and wishing for 8:00 PM.  Mrs. Frances Hewell and Mrs. Hazel Sanders were the sales force for Mr. Jenkins.  I was his body guard. I was there in case someone tried to rob him. Maybe, Mr. Jenkins saw some salesmanship potential in me-- either that or he wanted someone to keep him company on those lazy Saturday nights in downtown Guthrie.

In those days, Guthrie used to start "rolling up the sidewalks" between 5:00 and 6:00 PM.  Mr. James Hewell and Mr. Joe Sanders would come in about then, gather their brides and usually take them to one of the local eateries for supper while Mr. Jenkins and I waited out the evening.  On several of those Saturday nights no one would come in to buy anything.  I always felt guilty taking any money from Mr. Jenkins on those nights of little or no consumer traffic.  So I would "pretend" that my family needed some things at home and I would make a purchase with my pay. 

Even though most Saturdays were slow, the time before Christmas was a whole different story, and Christmas Eve was an experience all into itself.  On Christmas Eve of 1976, Mr. Jenkins developed a very bad cold and was, perish the thought, unable to work that day.  His son Bob was visiting from Florida and was the designated manager that day.   Mrs. Hewell, Mrs. Sanders, and I were all asked to be there early and to be prepared to stay late.   I found this a rather unusual request when I compared it to all my earlier experiences on Saturdays.  At 8:00 AM sharp, the ladies simultaneously opened the doors and a virtual tsunami of humanity entered Mr. Jenkins' establishment.  Or at least that is what it felt like for someone who celebrated when one customer walked in on a slow Saturday night. 

Each customer was waited on individually and while Mrs. Hewell and Mrs. Sanders did this,  I assumed my position behind the wrapping counter and Mr. Bob manned the cash register.   Over and over all day long,  I performed my duties wrapping the gifts as Mr. Jenkins had shown me.  Why I would dare say that there wasn't a better ribbon curler in all of Guthrie that Christmas.  As the day wound down and Mr. Jenkins began calling from his home for us to close the store down and my parents honked their car horn outside for me to join them for our family gathering in Adams, Mr. Bob counted the till and declared our day a financial success. 

In 1992, I was the Sales Rep of the Year for the Nashville North sales team of Nabisco Brands.  As I accepted my plaque and shook the hand of the Regional Vice President, my thoughts returned to that Christmas Eve in 1976.  Thank you to Mrs. Hewell, Mrs. Sanders, and Mr. Jenkins for your time, patience, and encouragement that you showered on me.  You cared enough and saw something in me that I didn't see in myself.

To borrow a phrase from Jimmy Durante, "Merry Christmas, Mr. Jenkins, where ever you are."